She has an interview with someone--she hears the name and lets it wash over her, nods and smiles at all the right times.
"You're a hero," the woman says, holding out a hand. Her nails are clipped too short and her smile is too big. "I want to thank you personally for what you did.
Hermione smiles and takes her hand and feels like she's going to be sick.
*
She goes to her parents, in Australia. She undoes the curse and twists her hands together, tears streaming down her face. They don't forgive her, but they will; she places all of her hope in that.
Ron is there with her, rubbing her back and whispering into her ear, and she loves him so much she eels faint with it. He's the only one that understands, he and Harry--he understands and he throws away the paper when it comes, offers to take her to Muggle restaurants. (They don't go back to Diagon Alley. Not at first.)
"I love you," he whispers into her collarbone, and she shivers and nods, feeling the moonlight streaming in through their window.
I love you, too, she thinks, and it's not a lie.
*
What they don't understand is that she's not a hero, she's nothing special. When she heard what Harry did, that he was going to kill himself, all that ran through her mind was I wouldn't. She's not a hero, she's a girl who was thrown into war and thrown against the ground. She packed dirt under her fingernails but didn't ever fully give herself to the fight.
She's not ashamed of this. Ron tells her that he too thought like that -
("I couldn't have done what Harry did," he whispers against her hair. It comes out broken, like a secret. "I couldn't.")
- and it should make her feel better, but nothing these days does.
*
She sits with a mug of tea and her fingers shake, these days.
no subject
They write about her in the Prophet.
She has an interview with someone--she hears the name and lets it wash over her, nods and smiles at all the right times.
"You're a hero," the woman says, holding out a hand. Her nails are clipped too short and her smile is too big. "I want to thank you personally for what you did.
Hermione smiles and takes her hand and feels like she's going to be sick.
*
She goes to her parents, in Australia. She undoes the curse and twists her hands together, tears streaming down her face. They don't forgive her, but they will; she places all of her hope in that.
Ron is there with her, rubbing her back and whispering into her ear, and she loves him so much she eels faint with it. He's the only one that understands, he and Harry--he understands and he throws away the paper when it comes, offers to take her to Muggle restaurants. (They don't go back to Diagon Alley. Not at first.)
"I love you," he whispers into her collarbone, and she shivers and nods, feeling the moonlight streaming in through their window.
I love you, too, she thinks, and it's not a lie.
*
What they don't understand is that she's not a hero, she's nothing special. When she heard what Harry did, that he was going to kill himself, all that ran through her mind was I wouldn't. She's not a hero, she's a girl who was thrown into war and thrown against the ground. She packed dirt under her fingernails but didn't ever fully give herself to the fight.
She's not ashamed of this. Ron tells her that he too thought like that -
("I couldn't have done what Harry did," he whispers against her hair. It comes out broken, like a secret. "I couldn't.")
- and it should make her feel better, but nothing these days does.
*
She sits with a mug of tea and her fingers shake, these days.
She wonders if it's ever going to pass.